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In his editor's note on Vanity Fair's annual, disappointing Hollywood reacharound, Graydon Carter recounts a testy run-in with this year's lock for Best Actor:

I ran into one of the subjects in the portfolio, Philip Seymour Hoffman, at a party we gave before the Golden Globes at the Sunset Tower Hotel (the Argyle's new name). Mr. Hoffman, the star of Capote, is a terribly serious young man, and in an ill-fated attempt to lighten the moment, I told him that I too do a pretty mean Truman Capote. While he stood there, I did my own impersonation, including the high-pitched, fey, lisping voice and the waving of a crooked finger while I adjusted my eyeglasses. He gave me a pissed-off look and just walked away.

You'd think that by now, especially after such a long and storied tenure as the ball-gagged gatekeeper of the city's most celebrated post-Oscar orgy, that Carter would know to wait until after Hoffman has the award before going launching into the "Hey, dude, check out my hilarious version of the otherworldly, high-pitched lisp you spent four months perfecting at Gay Speech Impediment Boot Camp!" routine. In fairness to Carter, his "My man Jake! Why don't you flip over and I'll show you how a real cowboy treats his lady!" bit did score a laugh with the Gyllenhaal clan moments earlier.